Barely shy of one and half decades ago, the iron curtains of the world’s stage lifted onto a cold autumn morning. An uneasy leap into the new era left many behind in the dark. Promises of peace gathered under swords hung overhead. Bloodstained walls bled through the attempts at the fresh paint slathered over. Not a single soul could shake the atrocities of the past, and so history repeated once more. Less than a year later in the blazing summer heat, roads and countries alike cracked under the unbreaking fury–the same fury from within the earth that birthed the clay from which man formed. The once formidable fifty stars united under one banner scattered into the night sky. Many were absorbed into constellations of their own making. The most infamous was the brief revival of Dixie before the Lone Star State superseded them. Texas gained more than it could ever bargain for with raw grit and spirit at the round table of war. The creation of the New England Confederacy had formed with minimal fanfare and recessional, but for good reason. For any play to begin properly, the lights must dim and the audience hushed before the first actor or actress ever sees the spotlights. And so, the world simmered down to a stagnant hush.
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The lights flashed on accompanied by the sound of thunder. That or gunshots. It was hard to tell the difference between the two when everything was reduced to horrible endless ringing. It was the last thing anyone would want to wake up to but far from the worst. Rainwater had formed a puddle within the body bag, creating a sopping wet sensation that drenched the girl trapped inside the claustrophobic plastic casket. The first thought was natural fear propelling her to find a way out. Escape wasn’t difficult for the bag as it had only been partially closed, mostly likely by whoever had stuck her in there so she could breathe. The pungent, overwhelming miasma of garbage and rotting biomaterial greeted her as her hand burst through what would have been her grave. She fought and tore out of the trash, emerging victoriously into the pouring rain. The second was confusion. She looked around in a panic with absolutely no recollection of how she got there or even who she was. Brick walls of dilapidated warehouses surrounded her on all sides except for one. A car rushed past on a busy street while blaring its horn. Several more cars responded in the same manner. The girl instinctively covered her ears only to find that they were not on the side of her head as she expected. Her confusion only grew when she felt the strange feeling of coarse, wet fur instead of the hair she expected. Startled, she glided her hands further up until she found two pointy triangular protrusions on the top of her head.
“Eh?” Her eyes slowly wandered downwards but did not see the small fleshy nub on the front of her face. Instead, they spotted a long snout with small black whiskers at the end of an equally black nose. The first thought racing through her mind was, “Is this a nightmare?”
She poked it with her finger and found it to be very much tangible. Unconvinced, she pinched her snout and the pain confirmed it to be real. That pain reminded her of the aches and soreness all over her body. She groaned. Every movement became more of a struggle as the initial spike of adrenaline wore off.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
A myriad of questions beginning with “W” sputtered out of her mouth.
“Where am I? Who am I…? What… am I?” Strangely, even though she felt the words escaping her lips, her jaw did not move.
She noticed she was partially buried in the dumpster. The first clue that came to mind was the body bag she must have been sleeping in. She certainly did not remember ever climbing into one for a snooze. Everything around her was alien and yet familiar as if she were a newborn with inherited memories. She covered her nose and dove back into the dumpster and searched blindly for the only thing she knew as home. After locating the body bag, she dragged it out with her. It hit the ground with a wet thud. There were plenty of holes poked into it that completely nullified the bag’s usual waterproof seal. She rummaged through the bag as if it were the carcass of a dead animal. Her hand felt something wrapped in more plastic. She pulled out a well-secured manila folder along with a torn page of a journal wrapped tightly in cling film. Thankfully, it kept it dry.
She placed the items onto the wet ground while sheltering them from the rain with her body to read what was written. It was only now that she realized what clothes she wore, or rather the clothes she was missing. Only basic undergarments covered her shivering skin.
“Skin?” At least she was still partially human. The cold rain bombarding her back like small wet artillery shells made her wish for more suitable clothing. Wiping away the water droplets, the note was written in a language she could understand.
“Dear my beloved daughter Flores, I’m sorry that you had to wake up to find yourself trapped in that body bag. It was the only way I could sneak you out before they got to you. I know you don’t remember much, but you don’t need to and you shouldn’t. This is a new start for both of us. Inside this folder is a copy of all of your legal documents that I’ve managed to collect. Sorry if some of them are a bit smudged. We were both running out of time. There should be some of my old clothing, some cash, and a knife I swiped as evidence in a duffle bag by the dumpster you were deposited in. I really wish things didn’t have to turn out like this, but this is the only way I can save you. I’m sorry for what happened to your mother, Belle. You won’t want to see what they did to her. I’m sorry for what they did to you as well. Most importantly, I’m sorry that I allowed these crimes against humanity to be done to you. Please do not chase your past or make the same mistake I did. Keep yourself safe. I know you can.”
The letter was addressed as being written by, “Your father, Arturo Fortune.”
Attached beneath was a photograph of the man who wrote that letter. Beneath that, there was an additional note meant for her. It was written in red ink.
"If you must know where I am, I have traveled up to Laslow, Maine in order to make things right once and for all. Please, whatever you do, DO NOT FOLLOW ME."
A year later, she would find herself not heeding his advice.